Free MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS by LYDIA STORM

of
Simon haunting him from the dark reaches of his brain, he said, “Thank you, but
I can get that myself,” as he picked up his shabby suitcase and gave the kid
five bucks.
    Veronica pranced
ahead, giving him a nice view of her shapely derrière. Waltzing through the
gleaming brass revolving door into the airy lobby with its sparkling
chandeliers and antique Persian carpets was as natural to her as it was for him
to slip into the bleachers at Shea Stadium. Though he tried to act natural, he
couldn’t help but watch her red alligator jewel case as she swung it back and
forth with her graceful gait.
    After they had
checked in, a team of porters led them to room 147 and opened the door. As they
were about to head in, John suddenly envisioned Veronica plopping her jewelry
case on the bed and opening it up for all to see. He knew already, just from
the few hours he’d spent with her, it was the kind of thing she would do.
    He jumped in front of
the entourage before they could enter the suite. “Thanks, guys, I’ll take it
from here.” After he peeled bills out of his wallet and handed them out like
candy at a playground, the porters wasted no time in disappearing.
    Inside the room,
Veronica stood with her arms crossed. “Why did you do that?”
    “Because this is not
a secure situation for your jewelry,” John said quietly. He tried to step into
the room. But before he had a chance, she shoved her hand hard against his
chest, blocking him.
    He tried to reason
with her. “Listen, why don’t you let me take your stuff down to the hotel
safe?”
    “Why don’t you mind
your own business?” she snapped and closed the door in his face.
    He stood there for a
moment with his Irish rising hot and fast. Then he closed his eyes and prayed silently. He took a deep breath and
pushed the doorbell.
    She didn’t answer.
    This time he put his
finger on the bell and didn’t take it off. He could hear the melodious little
chimes repeating themselves over and over and over again.
    The door sprang open.
She had taken her scarf off and her hair fell lose around her shoulders. She
had removed her sunglasses, too, and her eyes crackled like the blue flames at
the hottest part of a fire. “Well?’’
    “I was going to say,
your father is not paying me to mind my own business.”
    Their eyes locked in
a battle of wills until she took a breath and said, “What if I double his rate
and you leave me alone?”
    John raised his
eyebrows in surprise. Forty-thousand
dollars for doing nothing? Of course, that would be wrong, and he didn’t do
wrong things anymore. Sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous did not do wrong
things if they wanted to stay sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous. He closed
his mind to the temptation before he did something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry,
Veronica, we both know I can’t do that.”
    “Well, I’m not
handing my jewelry over to anyone else,” she said stubbornly.
    “It’s a hotel vault
where it will be safe,” he reminded her.
    “You don’t get it,”
she snapped. “This is my mother’s jewelry. It belonged to her and I’m not
giving it to you, or a hotel vault, or anyone else. It’s nonnegotiable.”
    Annoyed, John paced
up and down the hall, his steps muffled by the expensive carpet. He finally
turned back to her. “All right…but if those rocks get stolen…”
    “They won’t,” she
said, firmly.
    “But if they do…” he
jabbed an index finger her way accusingly.
    “They won’t,” she said,
gritting her teeth and once again the door was closed in his face.
    When he reached his
own room, John was still mad. He opened the minibar and it was lined with
little jewel-colored bottles of poison—Russian vodka, Kentucky bourbon, French
cognac. He marched over to the phone and dialed the operator. He told them his
room number and asked them to clean out the minibar.
    “Would you like to
replace that with anything else?” asked the obsequious desk clerk.
    “Sure, how ’bout
seltzer